The Ups and Downs
by IzzySenpaiChan
Summary: This is going to be a collection of short stories that I plan to write of my OCs. If you'd like to read, that'd be great! But not everyone is a fan of knowing new OCs. They aren't specifically in a universe, so they ended up here, on Fanfiction, purely because I do not want to move to WattPad. So I'll leave them here and hope you enjoy them as they go through their ups and downs.3


The keys jangled in my hands as they were handed over. They were cold, only slightly warm by being in the other man's hands. There were four keys on its ring, one for each door of the house. I looked up at him with eyes I knew were dark without intention. "I don't need these," I said with a low voice. "I'm raising two kids on my own, I...what am I going to do with the deed to her home?" I thought of all of her belongings, untouched and clean since she'd died from childbirth.

The man who handled Donna's will rose a brow. "Mr. Gorman...I think the worst of your worries are keys. Twins being raised by a single parent? Impossible, in my opinion. Especially one in emotional turmoil." His eyes were cold, just as cold as the room we were in despite the heat of the day. He was only giving me the keys because he was told to - and frankly I didn't care.

My eyes dipped to the floor. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to sink through the floorboards and cry. But I also wanted to be back with Donna Jr. and Louis. I bit my bottom lip, feeling the faint sting of tears. I nodded.

"I don't care what you do with the house or the deed. Hell, I don't care if you burn it, Mr. Gorman. Just make sure you're downwind and the smoke doesn't hit you." He stood from his chair, blocking the sunlight in his office. "It was pleasant speaking to you, Desmond Gorman." _Ha, right. And I slept with your mother_ , I thought.

I nodded, standing sluggishly. My hands felt shaky and I felt like throwing up. _When's the last time you slept?_ scolded my conscience. _You ate properly? Had a laugh, even a smile? Even TALKED to someone?_

I had no answer for it.

The keys dug grooves into my palms as I walked out down the hall of the grimly colored building. I couldn't care less about the color scheme. All that was on my mind was where to leave the keys for a long damn time and forget about them.

...

Metal clinked together in my back pocket of my jeans. They were too light in color - washed a couple times too many - but they were wearable. A drop of water appeared at a strand of my hair, one I squeezed out into my palm. There were consequences of not fully drying your hair after a shower, and these were one of them. I glanced down the hall and heard no cries. I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt my phone vibrate.

"Be there soon," the text read. I pocketed it again. The kids were taken care of while I was gone, so now there was nothing left to do but...go. A kiss was already on each of their foreheads, a soft lullaby playing for them on the shelf. The door with two handprints painted on them, one bigger than the other, closed.

I checked my back pocket for the keys, found them there, and made my way to the door. A small thought attempted to humor me: YOU'RE using the same keys you said you were going to forget about a month after you received them. I relinquished a small smile - something that was forced and foreign - to no one but myself. I went out the door and closed it behind me with a small click, left unlocked for Lucas, Donna's son, who was coming to watch the kids.

An engine purred to life.

...

The day was too warm. Sun too strong on my back. The grass too green on the lawn. My steps too sluggish and hesitant as I walked up the path. The day should be cold, the sun hidden by gray clouds, the grass dying...but even then my steps would lumber and be timid.

I remembered a day warm like this, the day Donna said she got into crafting. _I'm building a box_ , she'd said. _What for?_ I had asked back, though I wasn't in the best of spirits that day. _Can't tell you!_ Her hands intertwined behind her back as she stepped merrily along, her blonde hair dusting her shoulders with a smile on her face. _It's a surprise for you._ I smiled next to her. Now, stepping up to her house, that smile felt so foreign and old. Now she was dead, a dreaded word for anyone I spoke to. Everyone too fragile, too scared to ask how I was doing or to speak of happiness or even the color purple, Donna Sr.'s favorite. Those things would make me cry...or so they believed. They really just made me miss her, made me blame myself more. But now I walked up the walkway starting to be overgrown with weeds being left unattended thinking back with mellow understanding at their concerns.

I stepped on the single step available that separated the walkway from the porch. It was dusty, small webs building in the corners already. It was as if Death had come and touched everything Donna ever tended to with a chilled claw, turning it to webs and dust as if she'd been dead for longer than she was. I slid the should-have-been-forgotten keys into their slot and turned.

The door open soundlessly. A house warmly lit by the sun pouring through open shades greeted me, small knickknacks like snow globes adorning a shelf to my left. The shelf was one of those with drawers under the shelves, and this one had a lock on one of them. A key was on the shelf above it, a small silver one on a keychain. I recognized the star charm on the chain next to the key, the same pair of keys she used to unlock her car.

I shrugged my jacket off and walked further into the house. I set it on the couch in the living room as I walked past, a picture of her previous husband on the mantle's shelf of a fireplace next to it. I've long forgotten his name, but they were good together. Divorced just because of a lost spark, but they are - were, I corrected - still good friends. Isn't her life just grand?

Well. Up until it turned into "wasn't".

I continued walking further into the moderately-sized house, seeing pictures of Lucas hung up on the wall. The child that was now in my care, but hated me more than a Jew despises Hitler. What a warm turn of frickin' events. Stuck with a house I don't know what the hell to do with, a teenager who is emotionally scarred by the loss of a parent and stuck with the man he despises, two kids that I love dearly but know I can't take care of...life is just grand in the scheme of things. Life better have a certain amount of unhappiness you're allowed to have, because I'm certainly having a lifetime supply of it.

I glanced at a cross hung up on the wall. A sour memory of my mother, an extreme Christian who knew every pin in the game of passive aggression, rose up, and a light pang of dislike colored the blue nostalgia of the house a dark purple. God, the rest of my life better be livin' easy, because this is bullshit. I moved past the cross.

The rest of the house was ornamental, the same way it's always been whenever I visited. The window in the kitchen accented with the same lace curtain, the clock on the wall that had an obnoxiously loud tick in the living room, the untouched and unchanged paperweight of a small butterfly still on the desk in the study on top of a small stack of papers.

Even with all of these things where they're meant to be, that empty feeling was slowly growing around me. That reminder that she's not here to admire her snow globes or jingle her car keys stung like a toothache. A reminder that the future we would've had is through two children. Well...that wasn't a bad thing at all, was it? But then again, it isn't the same as feeling her heart beating.

I pushed those thoughts away, already beginning to feel the heartache. I forced myself to walk forward, running a hand through my still-damp black hair. It was getting too long. Eventually Louis would start pulling on it, Donna Jr. eating it. That brought a small smile to my face internally. Externally, my face didn't move a muscle.

My feet led me to a room with a relatively large bed, but not by any means a royal-sized bed. Obviously she intended to not sleep with anyone in her house. Ms. Prude up until the day she died, other than with her ex-husband.

A dresser with small bits of faded sticker on it was placed under a large mirror. Around it were small sticky notes in Donna's handwriting - small print with small loops - that read encouraging notes. On the dresser, a thin novel - a fictional one by the looks of it - rested with a ribbon that would forever remain on that page as a bookmark. Next to it was a small set of keys. I looked around, seeing no locked items in the room. I glanced at the bronze keys once more, then ignored it. They weren't mine to use.

I sat on the bed, the pastel covers shifting. I sighed, my head hitting the opposite side of the mattress, cutting out some of the light pouring through the window by resting the back my hand on my forehead. The world was too bright for a man stuck in the dark. I was growing tired of that light, but I also hated the dark and its loneliness. I hated the fact that I was growing further away from my kids, slowly but steadily, wanting to leave them to a couple who had two parents to take care of the both of them other than a man who could hardly find the will to get up in the morning who had zero knowledge with children.

I sat up. I wasn't aware that I was crying until the warm tear dripped off my chin and onto my hand. I decided to just let them fall. I was already well used to tears, so why should I care about this time? I turned to get off the other side of the bed, opposite of the side I'd gotten on, and stepped one shoe on the floor. When I moved the rest of myself forward, however, an unpleasant turn ended up with my face on the floor.

Instant stinging and pain registered in my cheekbone and jaw, slight pain in my right ankle. I was facing the floor and flat against it except for my left leg, propped up on something I couldn't distinguish from my angle. I twisted my torso, a hand to my cheek, to see what I'd tripped over. I felt one last tear fall on the carpet, the pain making my sorrow a mere afterthought.

My eyes settled on a relatively large wooden box, the front painted in faded letters that read "crafting". Half of it was under the bed, half out, able to be tripped on coming off this side of the bed. I sighed. Of course. Donna, the woman with the voice to soothe anyone and with cancer in her breast, had gotten into welding, crafting, and jewelling. Not professionally, but still enough to be considered a small dot on a page.

I removed my leg from the box, sitting up. The throbbing from my cheek was subsiding slowly but surely, a light ache now. Maybe she was finishing something that could cure cancer? I felt a small chuckle wanting to bubble out at that thought, but I willed. Her having breast cancer wasn't something to laugh at. But even so, I was still curious on what was in the trunk of crafting materials. I propped the lid up with ease, a light creak sounding from the hinges to proclaim its age, even if the wood itself looked polished and new.

Looking inside, the trunk was neater than I had assumed it would be. Metal and welding gear was on the left of the wooden trunk, jewelry items in a small box in the top right corner with a large paper stack underneath it, and finally wood chips and odd pieces in the final corner. In the middle was a jewelry box. On it was a sticky note written by her: "For Desmond".

A wave of sorrow and nostalgia hit me like a truck driving at full force. It felt like a fiction novel, where the dead loved one magically set aside a present to make their family feel better. But I knew that wasn't what this was - it was just a way to remember the project she'd spoken about on a few occasions. That didn't stop the tightening in my chest and the slight tremor in my hands as I picked up the box and set it in my lap.

The box wasn't that big. It was the shape of a small chest, wider than the size of my hand, but no wider than a foot. The silver metal was adorned with golden lines that resembled tree branches in a way, curled on some and edged on others. A small gem the color of turquoise that I didn't know the name of rested in the center of these golden branches. Of course, it was fake, but nonetheless the shine on it had the look of polish and finisher. I was just laying my hand on the curved lid to open it when I noticed the small keyhole just beneath its lip.

I peered into the hole for no particular reason other than to test if I could see its contents. No way I'd find the key - Donna was organized, but not the Labeled-Lucy sort. She had keys on the dresser, but those were too big. Her car keys wouldn't work on this - the shape was far too different.

After searching diligently but gently (I didn't want to upturn the room and untidy it) I gave up and looked at the box, wondering if I wanted to bring it. I finally decided and picked it up, carrying it under my arm and out to the car.

...

"Hey, Lucas, do you have any keys?"

The teen with an alarmingly slim frame (a symptom of OSTEOGENESIS imperfecta) and emerald green eyes turned away from the kitchen, a baby bottle in his hand. "Er...no. Why?"

"I just found...I lost my keys, and I was just wondering if you had them." I swallowed. It wasn't clear to me why I didn't want to tell him about it, but I wanted the contents to myself. It had my name on it, didn't it? And this was going to be at least something for me to hold onto-

No. He's in as just much grief as I am, if not more. The gaze I hadn't known that had hardened began to soften. "Well...okay, I'm lying. Your mom...she made a box for me and I want to unlock it. I don't know if it's done, but there weren't any keys in the box it came from."

"She didn't leave any notes?"

I shook my head. "No. Not a one." I left to get the box and showed it to him. His eyes did not convey sadness or wonder - just interest. I guessed that was the mind of a computer geek.

"It's not very weighted," he commented. I nodded. He gently shook the container and a look of confusion replaced the look of blank interest. "Huh. It almost feels like nothing is in it. Except I can hear something."

I rose a brow. I took the box from him, shaking it with a bit more effort than him. It almost resembled the sound of nails ghosting against wood, or leaves gently sweeping down the sidewalk against other fallen leaves. We both looked at each other.

"I have no clue," he said, answering my unasked question.

"That's why we have to find the key."

Lucas regarded me warily but with interest. "No. I don't want anything to do with it." My eyes widened. Before I could ask, he put a hand up to stop me. He continued. "Whatever it was, it was for you to find, not me. And frankly, I'm good without crying." He turned back to steaming the milk in the bottle. "And since you're back, it'd be great to have your help with the two. Louis is pitching a fit and D is hungry."

"You call Donna "D"?"

"Well, yeah. It's weird to use my mom's name for my half-sister." That said, he walked off with the warmed milk, leaving me to follow.

...

The room was far too loud and far too bright. It had the same feeling of when I was in theater, when the spotlights first came on and blinded you with their beams that told you, _"buck up, champ, the audience is here, and they want somethin' good"_. Except there wasn't anything "good" for me to present to them, no smile, no act, no usual quirky joke or sarcasm. Just the tolerance and the insistence to intake a poison as people chattered on and the bass from a stereo pounded in my ears.

The music felt like someone was putting a phone on vibrate against his temple every few seconds. The only thing really helping it was the cold beverage in front of me that I shouldn't have been drinking. I shouldn't even be in this place. But it was on the insistence of an old friend. An old friend that was completely hammered. An old friend I didn't remember the name of.

We were at a bar. A bar. Of all places, the idiot thought it'd be best to take me to a bar. At this point, I would've taken Augustine over him. At least he knew I had kids I needed to see, but luckily they were asleep at this time with Augustine and his daughter taking care of them and checking on Lucas. But it felt wrong to leave them and go out to just drink away my problems. But that guilt went away a little bit more with every sip of the Bloody Mary at my fingertips, my hesitance to drink going down even quicker.

He turned back to me after talking to a few friends, his red hair over his eyes. "Are you hammered yet?" He asked, his voice an obvious tipsy slur. I knew now that I couldn't get drunk - I had to drive. Unless I was suicidal, and I wasn't near that yet. Depressed a bit - or at least I thought a bit - but not suicidal. I shook my head at him, taking a hesitant sip of the drink in front of me. "You're really slow goin'," he replied, crossing his arms with a light laugh. "Just down it, Dez."

The nickname was shared with all my friends, I swear. I didn't really like it, but I didn't hate it. It lowered my mood a little, but another sip of the interestingly-colored alcohol balanced me out. "Can't. Someone's gotta drive. And I gotta check on kids."

"You have kids?!" He exclaimed, hands slamming the bar, the bartender glaring at him with his arms crossed. "I didn't know you'd ever even get your SHIRT off, ya prude!" He clapped me on the back, making me choke a bit on the alcohol I was drinking before he decided to slap me. "Who's the lucky gal?"

"She's not around." My voice had lowered and I inched away from him, though I couldn't really go anywhere - we were at the stools at the bar. He inched his stool closer just to even it out. His drunken smile only widened at me.

"Oh, she doesn't drink? I wanna meet her. Is she a good tap?"

I stared at him. "Like I would even let you!" I said with a glare. He recoiled instantly, turning back to his drink, palms up in surrender with a smile. He gave a nervous laugh.

"Damn, Dez, your glare is scary with those eyes. Does your girl like them?"

A vague memory of the second time I had actually met her resurfaced above the alcohol, despite its attempts. The memory of her staring at me and my questioning her, her then giving a bubbly little laugh and politely attempting to decline that she had stared. My poking her to see if she would give, her playfully slapping my hands away when I didn't stop. Her finally relinquishing the fact that she found my eyes intriguing. A nudge to the side brought me back from the memory that stung more than it should. "She can't. She's dead." It came out rough and hostile, but I only knew it did when he gave me an offended and shocked look. A long silence strung between the both of us as if someone had pressed "pause", other than the clinks of drinks and laughter and music of the bar. The bartender's eyes were on both of us; I could feel them as I stood up and decided to not finish the Bloody Mary, very few sips taken from it.

"Oh. Sorry, dude, I didn't mean to-"

"Doesn't matter. I'm done drinking anyway," I replied, walking to the door. I suddenly felt like crying, puking, and sleeping. I didn't know why, just all the feelings came crashing at me randomly, the lights that I thought were too bright actually dimmed and seductive making the outlines of every person look like a black inky shadow with a hint of red color, a passionate color like blood. It reminded me of the hospital after her heart had given its last tap, her lungs given their last providence of oxygen to the brain that held the memories of us and had the thoughts that knew she was going - when I thought Death had wrapped his oily fingers around her and taken her away, if the cold feeling I had around me was either air conditioning or his hand touching everything before me. Maybe Death had played a game with me? Maybe he's still winning? The game of, since I'd killed so many people when I was a confused, no-goal young adult that accepted anything for cash just to get out of my parent's home, that anyone I loved or touched died. The game of feeling the pain my victims felt when I had killed one of their own. Then I thought back to me next to Donna, a gentle but fading smile on her face as the pain kept dragging on.

Then all at once a quote from an old teacher rang in my head. "Hearing is the last sense to go when a person dies." Did she hear my own lungs stop with hers when the realization hit me? Did she hear the tears drip down to the floor? Did she hear me grip her hand as if that one vein in her wrist would keep her with me? No. No, those were too silent. And all at once I realized painfully that the things that are the most silent are the ones that speak the most painful volumes.

Swimming - no, bombing - out of the painful voices and thoughts, I was leaning against the one I had gotten pissed at. We were outside the bar, my arm slung around his shoulders. The night must have been hot, as there was sweat running down my face, but I didn't feel the heat. My old friend was humming some song that sounded like Nirvana.

A small cough alerted his attention. "Oh, hey. You done cryin'? Man, you scared me." He laughed. "You just kinda slumped against the bar and started bawlin', man. Like some real emotional bawlin'. Even old Blue felt bad for you." I didn't know who Blue was, and I didn't care. A cold breeze blew by, telling me that the clear liquid on my cheeks was not sweat, but in fact tears. Even though my emotional stress for the evening was through, they still streamed in fresh ribbons. "Had to escort you out. Too bad I had to leave the drink though. I'm sobered up, so I'll drive ya."

I felt weak, and I honestly didn't care for what he had to say. My mind was suddenly hammering at me for keys. I needed keys. The night was cold, the sidewalk was clear except for traces of trash, and buildings kissed the moon - of all things I could've thought about with that beautiful night sky out, my mind raced about keys. The more I thought, the further we ended up being. How far had I parked my car-

Maybe the car keys?

A man in a raggedy coat with patches and holes sat to the left of me. He was asleep, obvious by his rough breathing that indicated a smoker. He was homeless, even a small glance at him showed a sign written in dying sharpie that he needed cash. He had a messy beard, one that a skinny dog - his companion by a glance - was licking. Maybe we could-

Possibly the keys that I got out of Donna's will?

Oh, right. Aiko was his name, right? With my head resting on his shoulder, the angle made the yellow full moon shine on his piercings. I remember helping him put in corset piercings when we were teens, even though we had never done anything remotely close, other than pierce our ears. Aiko, the guy that hated his blonde hair and dyed it "Elmo Red", as he liked to call it. The piercings over his eyebrows were highlighted the most, making me look away. When did he get those? I don't remember him having that in-

Even maybe the key that my dad had given me for his snack stash when I was younger that my mother didn't know about?

As I ripped myself away from Aiko's grip to suddenly throw up from dizziness, a thought occurred to me. Through the unpleasant disagreement of alcohol and sobbing, I thought maybe the keys in Donna's house would fit. Then I lost consciousness.

...

I didn't like my mom growing up.

See, there's a difference between "dislike" and "hate". A big difference. When I was growing up as a disruptive, rebellious teen, I disliked her just because she was strict and overly religious. The woman had a reason to be strict - I'd gotten drunk many a time, disrespected her, and went against the God she loved so much. But I quickly switched from "dislike" to hating her as I matured for he narrow-mindedness to other opinions, her need for perfection, - "NY-ther, Desmond, not NEE-ther," she had said on more than one occasion - and her insistence on looking your best because "God will judge you in the clothes you wear". Needless to say, a lot of my rebellion was caused just from that woman alone. But the reason my hatred for her as a teen was nowhere what it would be toward that woman when I was an adult.

My dad I liked. Well, loved. I always loved my dad. He was quirky, humorous, and understanding. But I can't really expect much else from an actor. He never got famous, never scored big movies - just the kind you'd never heard of, probably the kind of movie that resembles a famous movie so much that your grandmother mistakes it for the real one when shopping for you. He was a fan of dark humor, and he taught me to stand up for myself. Of course, I had my moments of hatred with him - he was far from perfect - but Felix was a saint compared to Evangeline. He handled my rebelliousness with a firm but lax grip - I didn't do drugs, and I didn't abuse anyone because he told me not to. But my mom was strict and rough, pressing religion on me. Her heart was in the right place...or at least I thought so then. Now, as I look back on this dream of memories, her seemed to dislike her family from the beginning.

I didn't dislike myself growing up, unless my mom made it sound like God was going to cast me to the side just because I dyed a strand of my bangs red. I disliked myself when I was "unholy" and had "holy water" sprinkled on me. I disliked myself when my mother tried her best to keep me on the right track in the wrong ways, telling me that I would fail if I didn't pick myself up, that she'd give up trying if I went below a certain line. She never abused me, but I disliked her so much that I converted to Atheism. She didn't know until I was 18, and that was the only time she called me a mistake and slapped me. The next day I had moved out.

All this Donna knew. I had told her with a humorous tone one day while we were still friends. I had explained that I hadn't called since I was 18 because my dad was still with my mom - and I didn't want to deal with her. I wasn't sensitive about it. In fact, I thought it was all no problem. But even so, encouraged me even though I had long since gotten over it, and said I should talk to my mother. She was certain that I could get her side of the story, maybe patch my relationship up. I had then thought that it was ridiculous and discarded it.

My dad had a stroke when I was 28. Donna helped me through the tears, though when I visited him after years of not seeing him, my mom was nowhere to be seen. Which was great in my favor, but Donna was worried. Eventually we forgot about it and my dad insisted we go back, that he'd be fine - he had my mom, or so he said.

It was two years or so after when I got worried. I called to check on him occasionally - as per Donna's insistence - and Donna was with me when I had made one in particular. It was his housekeeper, and she said that, by direction given by Evangeline - my mother - that I wasn't able to speak to my father. Donna had then made me call my uncles and aunt, since they were the closest. But hearing such a cryptic message from the housekeeper, I was scared to hear it. I had no doubt in my mind that my mother had murdered my father. Donna held my hand though, and kept me calm. She even talked to one of my uncles when I couldn't handle the stress and had to take a moment, calming me down as she spoke.

But the highlight of this is one of the clearest memories I've ever had, and one I had nightmares of a little while after.

I had been holding the phone, talking to my dad's eldest brother, Percy. Everyone else - aunt and uncles - hadn't gotten much intel, as they had called the house directly. But Percy had been reading headlines and newspapers of the city - he didn't live in the same area, but still cared - and he had known for quite some time of his condition, about six months. His tone had been icy, but Donna's hand holding mine kept me warm. I was shaking, expecting to hear "murder" come through the receiver for every second. It was irrational, as she never did anything to harm the man. But nerves screamed at me "foul play".

I had glanced to Donna who had a smile on her lips. That had calmed me amazingly well. Then I heard Percy take a breath.

"Felix committed suicide. He...he had left a suicide note, however, saying that it wasn't your fault and that he was proud of you, despite what you've might have done. I remember that most vividly of all because he had highlighted it." Then he took a small shaky breath with a quiet laugh. "But...he said he wished to no longer live because..."the star I gazed upon was a mirage, and its intentions unholy, despite its words. But at least...I got a wonderful son out of it"." Percy had then put the phone down, or so I assumed he did, judging from the sound of the friction and his distant crying. I remember the frozen feeling in my chest after hearing those words.

He had always called Evangeline his "star" in reference to Disney's Princess and The Frog, so I instantly knew that he was saying that my mother had been the cause. I don't remember dropping the phone, but I did remember Donna holding me tight as I cried into her chest, whispering gently to me, the phone long since gone. I don't remember what it was she whispered, but it had made me cry for a long time. She had gently kissed the tears off my cheeks as I slowly started to calm down a little, and that was when I had known just how much I loved her, just because I knew we could support each other. That she could handle my emotions, and I hers. That her gentleness was well-rounded as she coaxed my tears away and slowly but surely calmed me down.

The next week after was when she said she would make her box for me. Her surprise. When we were walking along on a warm day, my spirits low but higher than they were because she was with me, she had told me that she had gotten into crafting. I didn't remember much of the memory, only bits and pieces - like the bit I remembered when going to her house - as I had suppressed a lot of the memories centered around my finding out of my father's suicide. But now colors are vivid and alive as if I were reliving a memory - dreaming.

Her fluffed hair went out to the side like wings, the blonde contrasting against her purple cardigan. The shirt that was cut in a tear-drop under the trim to show cleavage, which always surprised me because she was a prude like I was, even though she had a son - only about eight at the time. The sun glinted against her simple circle pendant around her neck and her brown boots, her favorite ones that her ex-husband had given her. The colors lashed out at me as she walked next to me, her fingers laced behind her as she told me about the box. Then a foreign part of the memory entered the dream and she stopped, facing me, signaling for me to stop with her. She had a small smile on her face. "But the box is going to be locked."

I stared at her for several moments. "Why? Can't I just...open it? Why do you need it secure? I doubt someone will steal it."

"No, not for safety." Her smile brightened and she had grabbed me by my jacket and pulled me forward, our noses half of a centimeter apart. "Because I want to see if you remember me." She smiled and kissed me lightly. I blushed, as we hadn't really gotten into the kissing yet - we hadn't been dating that long, maybe about four months, but even so I wasn't used to the kissing game. She let me go, walking normally along the sidewalk. I continued with her, confused.

"Of course I'll remember you," I said, "Why wouldn't I?"

Donna glanced to a few kids playing through the thin veil of the forest. Her modest mini-hoop earrings shined in the sunlight. "I wanna see if you remember where I tell you the key is."

"I'll write it down." I followed her as she strayed off the past and into a small forest. "Hey, Donna, you don't even know where you're going!"

"Yeah I do," she replied, stepping calmly over a branch that I proceeded to almost trip over. "And no writing it down!" She turned to me, walking backwards and facing me, expertly stepping over various branches and rocks, showing she had gone here a million times. Sun speckled across her face as I followed. She laughed as I attempted to swiftly follow. Then she stopped at a small clearing where a little pond was, a set of two smooth rocks set across from each other. A few beer cans littered around, but not much - they didn't take away the beauty of the sun hitting the water or the elegance of the color, however. The water was too blue and the leaves and grass too green for the red to suck it away. And then there was Donna, standing in front of the green and blue, a refreshing purple and yellow on the canvas. She stepped towards me and turned me around.

"Donna, what are you do-"

"Shhh, shh, you'll see!" She ruffled my hair and I heard her crunch over the leaves, the scent of her perfume leaving with her. The sound of water shifting, something heavy moving, and a hollow sound of wood sounded after the next few minutes. Then I felt her fingers wrap around my shoulders and turn me around. I opened my mouth to inquire, but she shook her head.

"To answer your earlier question of why I want to lock it, it's because...I am going to die from cancer. That's that. No way around it. And after what you're going through right now, I don't want my death to hurt you as badly. Of course, it's going to regardless, but...hm. How to phrase it?" She crossed her arms, thinking. "Well...when you're depressed...you need support. And relying on my gift in the box I made for you isn't you coming to terms. It's good to have that support, but you need to be able to get up on your own, as well...does that make sense?"

"So...IF-"

" _When_ -"

" _-IF_...you die, I HAVE to get over it myself first? But aren't you about to show me the key?"

Donna shook her head. "When you're depressed, you submerge several memories of that person to avoid hurting. This is going to be one of them. I know it. Because it'll be a memory of you and it's near your the news of your father. Coming to terms means that you're able to bring these memories up long enough without hurting to remember. I know it's unnecessary, but I don't want to leave you alone. But I will have to, and this is the best way to make sure that, when you've gotten past the most painful parts, you get that support that you can look at and fondly remember me."

I nodded slowly, then Donna leaned in. "Okay, so the key is at-"

"I thought you said you weren't going to tell me-"

"-this area!" She finished with a smile. "It's small. Not too hard to find. And Lucas shouldn't see...it may hit him a little too hard. He's always liked my handwriting, you see." I didn't expect her to hand-write things, but I said nothing about it. I nodded.

Then she turned and started walking away down the same floral path we came, the sun shining brighter as it came out from behind a greedy cloud, the trees' leaves aligning a connected line of an oval on the back of Donna's cardigan, almost like a halo.

And then it faded. The dream was over.

...

Knocking from far away was what woke me up. It was hard, but it was a thick knock, the sort that sounded like a big hand wasn't rapping, but using the side of it to pound your door. Slowly opening my eyes, I realized that the knocking was my head pounding in my temple, pain coursing through me. I first became acquainted with the hula girl dancing on the dashboard of a small car, then shook hands with the night sky with a starry sky. The movement of the car was on a smooth road, the buildings zooming by the height of skyscrapers and the cool colors of night painted on their faces. People walked past, some dressed provocatively to gain money, some dressed in business attire as they walked home from their late jobs. The strong scent of marijuana hit me and made the knocking against my head stronger. I glanced over to see a half-smoked blunt in the hand of Aiko, calmly driving despite the obvious fact that he was high, his reddened eyes shining in the green light we drove under. The sour taste of vomit hit me strong suddenly, as if all my senses were slowly coming to me one at a time and taste just made it to the party. The acrid taste of marijuana came with the scent, and I reminded myself not to take any sort of drug.

"We're gonna get pulled over," I murmured, my stomach turning. The movement of the car made my head continue to pound and my stomach churn. I didn't know how long I was out and the night sky dotted with stars wasn't helping. Aiko glanced at me with his red-tinted dark brown eyes that were too calm.

"Oh, you're up." He inhaled another puff of the smoke. Seconds later, he took another puff without releasing the first bout. Then he released both clouds of smoke into the car that had no windows down. Is this what people intended whenever they referred to the stoned as "baked"? Stuck in a car choked with smoke from a blunt?

"Yeah. Stop smoking that shit."

"What? You want some? There's a blunt in the glove box-"

"No, I don't want to get lit." I sat up slowly, but it made my stomach irk regardless. "I'm going to smell like weed. Lucas is gonna flip his lid." I reclined my head back, the aroma beginning to make my headache even further. Closing my eyes helped a bit, but it didn't help my stomach.

"Who's Lucas?"

"A guy. Roll the window down." He didn't question me further - after all, I guessed he knew when not to keep going into a subject. It wasn't that I wasn't willing to tell him - I just wanted to make sure he was focused on driving. And even then I wasn't sure. I heard the window roll down and the smoke billowed out.

"Hey," he said, speaking over the blunt. "Can I ask about your chick? The dead one. The one you-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Depends. How far away're we?

"Maybe fifteen minutes. I dunno. I hardly remember your address." I told him and he nodded. "Yep, that's the one. So maybe ten."

I thought for a while, Aiko not saying anything as he drove along, high as a kite. I was hungry since I had basically puked up my breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or ar least it felt like it. And now I had to go back to memories and try to talk about them as my head banged and my stomach brawled. I was tired, and with all the rest of my ailments, memories weren't coming easily. But I murmured what I knew.

"She was really sweet," I murmured. "She was a singer. She had a YouTube channel just for her covers...and she was liked on there. She always had a pretty voice." I paused, thinking once more. "She had breast cancer. She was always sure she was going to die from it. She'd always hate whenever she got out of chemo because her hair would fall out, and one time she actually went bald before and after the chemo, keeping it shaved, which made both of us laugh. Eventually she stopped, and her hair grew back pretty quickly." I gave a dry laugh. "It's weird that she'd sing online when she was so shy about her voice. She was shy about her appearance, what she did...she was even nervous around her ex-husband." I stopped when I realized I was rambling.

"Sounds nice. Didn't she die from the big C then? I mean, you're kinda makin' it sound as if she didn't."

"Childbirth."

"Oh."

"Twins."

"Makes sense."

Then the car was silent again. Along the car rolled over rocky and smooth patches of cement, making a melodic roll of the car.

"How long ago?"

"Not long enough." I had already lost count of the days she'd been gone - who's to know how many I just ignored, barely scraping by? Some days the only thing stopping me from sulking under the blankets dodging suicidal thoughts was my kids - not that I had any. Maybe I would've had this suicidal thoughts of they weren't there, maybe I wouldn't've. Who's to say? Not Aiko, not me. Not Lucas, and not Augustine. Not even my therapist, who I kept skipping.

"Remember these visits are mandatory, Mr. Gorman," she had said. The therapist who was all too desperate and who had accidentally rambled about how "too Christian in an Asian country" her boyfriend was. Her desperation showed in the lace pantyhose that her pencil skirt was hiked up enough to show the garter. She wanted attention from the Christian man who wouldn't touch her and she didn't care who she got it from. She scolded me when I didn't come - she left voicemails - and I knew she just saw her emotionally-wounded patients as an attempt at a one-night stand. Being the prude I was, I always declined, but that didn't mean she wasn't in my head for her desperation.

The rest of the ride was filled with stories spoken but not told of Donna and I. My dad's funeral and other personal things were kept out - but I managed to tell him almost every story I had despite the fact my house wasn't that far. It turned out he had managed to miss it and just circled around the block as I spoke. I wasn't complaining - though when I got out of the car, I was relieved to leave because Billy Ray Cyrus's "Achy Breaky Heart" was playing and I had already spent enough time taxing my aching and broken heart for one night.

...

I awoke with a siren blazing in my ears. That siren turned out to be both of my young children laughing and giggling and shrieking happily like babies do in my ears. At first I was taken by more than surprise, I was taken by terror. Then when I sat up and gave them both a small kiss (they both giggled) the thought occurred to me of how in the name of Jehovah they got to here from their room next to mine and on my bed. The image of them somehow bolting out of their cribs and crawling across the floor and THEN climbing on my bed made me laugh.

A nightmare had bubbled up as I slept, but I had already forgotten it.

Donna Jr., a small curl of blonde on her head and light brown in her eyes making her look like her mother's carbon copy, smiled and giggled as I kissed her nose, her making small noises that only Louis could understand. Louis, with shock blue eyes that I knew I had the same of and only the lightest black lock of hair that made him my own twin, made soft claws with his hands, reaching for my own onyx hair. I pulled the blanket over all of us, making the two shriek with delight at the sudden change, making me smile and laugh along with them.

Despite the darkness, they were shining; their eyes, their smiles. Not because they were reflecting a light, but because they were my own little suns, from their copied tufts of hair to their smallest toe that I knew Lucas would play with to make them laugh. Even as sunlight poured in to threaten my eyes, just having the two made my morning delightful. But eventually the tickling and laughter that commenced had to end because Donna had accidentally poked Louis's eye when flailing around and made him cry, resulting in her tears to follow. I stripped all of us of the blanket, both of them still crying. I carried both of them out of the room, glad I was the one to take care of them for once.

...

"Where are you going?"

"To the park," I reply, pocketing my car keys. Lucas observed me with eyes that had mistrust and worry in them. It was like he was sure I was going to die next and he'd have to find some way to get to his father in Florida, who was still left uninformed of Donna's death because I told the hospital that Donna had no husband figure, so they didn't call. They didn't know her ex-husband existed. It was selfish of me - extremely, in fact - to do that, but I felt possessive of the children Donna had given her life to bring into this world. Not that her ex would have possession of Donna and Louis...well, maybe. I wasn't sure how court worked on that subject. But in terms of Lucas, he could probably be given to his father. Most likely, now that I think about it. But I wanted him as much as I wanted Donna and Louis. Sure he hated me for a while, but I still cared about him - I wanted to watch him grow up. I was attached to the teen who was slowly but surely growing to at least not hate me. And the look in his eyes made me even more protective over him.

"Are you taking Donna and Louis?" He asked. He had his textbook open on the table as I grabbed a water from the fridge. Originally I wasn't going to, but all the kid's been doing is watching my own kids. He needed to take into account of his own school work - college wasn't easy. He was there longer, going for more than just a degree in computers. He wanted more degrees, like political science and minors in languages. He wanted to learn. And I couldn't keep pushing my own task onto him. I nodded.

Again, that worried look came to his green eyes. I gave him a smile. "Dude, chill. I know how to drive. Plus, it's a warm day. Not a lot of people will be out driving - us humans like air-conditioning."

Lucas still had doubt. Enough of it to make him put his pencil down. "Desmond, don't speed. Or cut. Or merge into a lane that's already full. There's large spaces between cars for-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, so if the first car suddenly breaks, the car behind it can still hit the breaks. Don't merge between those. Can get sandwiched. I got it." I opened the water bottle and patted his head and walked away to go grab my kids. What I wasn't aware of was that Lucas actually prayed after I left.

...

The double carrier was heavy. Way too heavy. The slow, swinging motion I was doing, however, was entertaining the two kids that laid in the carrier. I wasn't even sure if this was the right park. My statement of it being warm was correct though, a bit too correct. It was a lot warmer than I thought. But, of course, being the kids they were, they had little ideas in their head that were bigger than temperature. They had ideas of why the grass was green and why the sky was blue even though they didn't know how to vocalize them. Little ideas that scientists didn't bother to answer, and just labeled it as "common sense". Or maybe they did have a scientific answer. It didn't matter to me. When I was in high school, questions like that were looked at as ridiculous, no matter how serious your face was. In kindergarten, these kids could ask whatever they wanted and get looked at as cute.

The grass was green. Really green. Blindingly green with the sun on it. I set the carrier on the grass to just take a minute to rest. I was NOT a built guy, and I had decided to walk the whole way here because it was a scenic route. Now I thoroughly regretted my decision. But not as much as I thought I would.

I sat down next to the carrier and opened my water, taking a drink. I opened up the small bag I brought for things for Donna and Louis, but they were fed before we left, so it was no wonder they weren't hungry. I did take a napkin and pour a little water on it and pressed it lightly against their faces, though. I was worried beyond Hell that they would have a heatstroke. I wish I had brought my car, but that was long gone. After making sure that they were at least a little cool, I picked up the carrier again. Then I found what I was looking for.

A small opening covered with weeds leading into a small forest appeared before me, age that held memories dear to me. It was laden with poison ivy, however, and there was no way I'd be able to carry the carrier over without getting the two infected with it. The thought of just going home and leaving my expedition for another day crossed my mind when a familiar voice called out behind me.

"Desmond, that's poison ivy! Don't you dare go near that with my siblings!" Lucas was panting and red-faced. Being the skinny teen he was, he didn't handle heat well. But not too an alarming health risk. I stopped and turned towards him, watching him step over flowers and rocks that could've broken him. Then he held his hands out to me. "That box you talked about. You're going to open it, aren't you?"

I stared at him for several seconds, unable to produce a sound. Before I could even process a thought, he answered:

"Mom told me. About this park. About what's here. I don't really remember, but she came home and told me. Just because she was happy." Then I noticed the small tears at the corners of his eyes. The sun made them shine and his hands shook as he held them out to take the carrier. "If Mom left ME something, I'd want to open it alone. So...just give them to me. They can look at the spider lilies."

My chest gave a painful tug. My body was warm, but my face was warmer. Spider lilies were Donna's favorite flowers. She had sung a song about them, a song that she had sung to me for our anniversary. She never uploaded it to YouTube. She sung it with tears, but she never told me why. She didn't have any traumatizing experiences - her parents were alive, she was liked at school. But still she cried when she sung of spider lilies with the piano she played faltering because her hands shook. Her voice wasn't pretty that day...at all. It was beautifully haunting, a hollow but full sound that made chills go down my spine - but I couldn't remember how the song went now. It was lost in my memories, and I didn't try to remember it. And Lucas seemed to feel that from me as a tear went down my cheek. I wiped it away. Then I gave a slow nod. "Okay. Let them look at the spider lilies. I hope they like them."

Lucas nodded. "They will." I handed him the carrier and went through the poison ivy, feeling it only touch my jeans. I reminded myself not to touch them, or at least try not to. Then I was through the bush and on the path covered in leaves and branches. I slowly treaded through, deja vu hitting me, but in an uncomfortable and creeping way. It was as if the beauty of the path died along with Donna - and when it died, it represented my heart. Twisted and guarded other than a small opening allowed for only a select few to enter. My chest gave a warning tightening in my throat and forced myself forward, ignoring the memories of Donna and I walking through, her smile on her face and the outline of the sun on her back. Now there were no openings in the trees. Just a shaded umbrella that guarded against the heat of the day.

Branches cracked and leaves crunched as I tread past. I almost tripped several times, but I never fully fell. The path seemed to go on forever, memories constantly attempting to nip at my heels and trip me like the branches. Eventually the memories overwhelmed me, her smile, her laugh, her optimism, her tears, the sound of the piano as her fingers shook, the way she held and calmed me as I cried, the way her heart stopped beating as she-

My face hit the forest floor. Tears streamed down my cheeks and hit the leaves as if it were raining. I remembered she'd told me that the box she would make me would make would help me when she died of "cancer". But now the causes of her death were playing with the flowers she loved. I remembered that sometimes, for a split second, I'd blame my two kids and feel horrible immediately after. With those thoughts, who was I to call myself a parent? Who was I to keep Lucas in my family and call him my adoptive son? Who was I-

The shadow of the trees broke. A few leaves fell, and even to this day I remember how those leaves fell. I remembered they twirled as they fell to the ground, my eyes following them as I told myself that they couldn't be falling yet, it's not fall. But there they were, as if they were impatient leaves, falling to the ground. And then the sun poured through.

I wiped my tears away, ignoring the small flakes of dirt on my hands that had gotten on when I caught myself from the fall. More tears came take their place. My eyes widened at the sun showed the grove where Donna and I once stood, the pond, the trees, the place where she got serious with me.

It was in ruins. The pond was murky and the color of moss. The grass here looked dead from the lack of sun other than in a few patches. The trees were scratched by what appeared to be animals, the forest now bigger than the eight years ago I was here. Now I picked myself up with shaking arms that could hardly support me and got onto my feet. I took hesitant steps forward as I remembered the dream of when Donna had told me where she had hidden the key - this very grove. I remembered her visiting me constantly when I was told my father killed himself because of his mother. When she just nodded as I ranted about how I hated my father for being a coward and not getting help...and when she held me so gently when I regretted those poisonous words. The memory was followed by more, and my hands were over my face and my shoulders shook with sobs. I took unsteady steps forward, collapsing next to a tree with a hollow in its trunk as the emotions fully overtook me. I cried, not caring how loud I was in this dead forest. I murmured my hate at the world, hitting the tree with weak and then strong punches as I hated the randomization of life and death and how weak I was against it. I hated how horrible movies and books made loss seem. It wasn't some opening for someone to take you into your arms - I didn't want anyone but those who had to be near me.

Losing someone isn't just "losing a piece of your heart". Losing someone is losing your will to keep going. Losing someone isn't some petty smile at the end of a movie to get people crying. Losing someone is forgetting how to smile without them there and wondering how you're going to get by. Losing someone is looking at tragedy's like natural disasters and suddenly feeling horrid for those who has to experience that lost instead of just glancing at the TV, saying that's so sad, and moving on.

I don't know how long I sat there, punching the tree and crying and calling Life out on its mistakes of who It takes. But at the end of it all my knuckles were bloody and they hurt like a bitch. My hands felt numb, like the rest of my body. I felt dry and empty, like a river that had run its course. But nonetheless I reached my hand up into the hollow of the tree, accidentally going deeper than I should have to grab a hold and get up, and my hand hit against something rough and hard. I hoisted my self up, my face scarred with the acid of tears, and felt the hardness of the foreign object again. I glanced into the dark whole and grabbed onto it since I couldn't see it and pulled it out - the threshold of the tree fought against me, and a spider crawled on my hand. My hand still gripping the object, I screamed and fell back, tripping on a large rock and plummeting into the murky water, getting a mouthful of it. In the water, I saw the silver object tumble out of my hands as I finally pulled myself from under, fumbling for the object that my mind said it couldn't be and my heart saying it had to be it. What I came here for. The horrid taste in my mouth was gone - I was focused too deep on getting the object. And then there it was, scraping against my hand as I pulled it out of the water, moss encasing my hand silver gleaming in my hand. I pulled myself out of the water, happy tears going down my face as I pulled out of the water, coughing out the water. I knelt to the bag I brought that held the box and pulled it out, smoothing the bangs plastered to my face by the water back. My eyes focused on the opening of the key that was in my shaking hand. I slid it in, feeling it fit in. Then I turned it with a click, a soft smile growing on my face as more tears spilled down my face, my other hand over my mouth in amazement. I could almost hear Donna smiling and laughing behind me as I, drenched from my fall in the pond and tears spilling over onto my already bloody knuckles, opened the box with the key she hid from me like a playful game.

And her box of treasures, built when her hands were still warm and when she could smile at my side at the grove that was alive, was opened during the era when she was six feet in the ground and her lungs were still and the grove I knelt in was a cemetery, was opened and the secrets kept here for eight years was opened in my trembling hands as tears soaked its contents. But all at once whatever was in the box was banished from my mind. Just by the sound of a key played on a piano, my tears, heart, thoughts, and hands froze. I'd forgotten that anything was inside the box, and I ignored anything inside of it, just listening. The sound that made me forget the box made by the woman I loved and only remember her voice.

Through the box, I could hear the spider lilies' songs she said she'd sing for the kids when they were born. The song I'd forgotten began to play.

 _Blow, blow, gently through the breeze,_

 _Bring my love to you, my darling,_

 _But be careful on your brave journey,_

 _Through the sea of the Spider Lilies._

 _Blow, blow, gently through the breeze,_

 _My heart attached to its rosy petals from me_

 _Your smile, your laugh, it brings me to you,_

 _My darling, dearest, my brightest moon,_

 _I send myself through the sea of the Spider Lilies to you._

 _Blow, blow, gently through the breeze,_

 _Don't cry now, for I wish for your smile,_

 _Your lovely lips to give a laugh and call my name,_

 _Let your voice sour through the sea of the Spider Lilies._

 _Oh…my love, the moon begins to shine,_

 _Oh…the sweetest gift of mine,_

 _Close your eyes…wipe your tears,_

 _And let me see your smile…._

 _Beyond the sea…of the Spider Lilies…_

And for the first time since I'd gotten those keys to Donna's house, since she died, I cried with a smile on my face.


End file.
